


Left to Ruin

by FandomNonsense



Category: Night at the Museum (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Betrayal, Blood and Violence, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:54:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26138464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FandomNonsense/pseuds/FandomNonsense
Summary: Before Ahkmenrah was a relic in a museum, he was the pharaoh of one of the world’s greatest empires. His life was spent to its fullest with the people he loved and ended by one who did not love him in return.
Relationships: Ahkmenrah (Night at the Museum)/Original Character(s)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 7





	1. Prologue: The Boy Who Wanted to Be King

**Author's Note:**

> This story took me over a year to write, and I've been posting it on tumblr under a different blog name, and it's gotten pretty popular so I thought I would post it on here. If you are new to this story, welcome!

**Ancient Egypt**

Blooming like an oasis upon the arable banks of the mighty Nile, sat the flourishing capital of Waset. The markets buzzed from dawn until dusk like the hives of hornets. The rich land proliferated in abundant harvests, and the people thrived under the just rule of the pharaoh Merenkahre. Like so many kings before him, his rule had begun shortly after the death of his father. At only fifteen, the boy took the crown with dignity, grace, and honor—with the desire to do right by his people. Waset mourned the loss of their former king, but the prince had always proven to be strong and wise. The citizens welcomed their new boy king with gladness.

Time passed quickly in those days, and only a week after his coronation, Merenkahre wed his sister Meskhenet—a girl only a year younger than himself. The princess was not a glittering gem; her features were no grander than anyone else. But she was wise, and together the king and queen shared the desire to serve Egypt to ensure it would prosper for centuries to come

The queen had carried four children, and three of those precious babes were ferried to The Field of Reeds before some had sounded so much as a cry. The first, Meskhenent carried to term and after a day and a half of labor, the boy died peacefully in his sleep, before the sun could rise the next morning. The second was a little girl—stillborn at four months. The third came early surviving only an hour or two, and with each loss, Merenkahre and his wife suffered a broken heart. It was years before they tried again. The sorrow was too much to bear for the queen until finally, the gods were kind. At mid-day, they were blessed with a son—the first to survive the night. Queen Meskhenet never left the boy’s side, in awe of her gently cooing bundle, and so in love. Merenkhare shared that same affinity; and when his son survived his first week, the capital celebrated the birth of their new prince—Kahmunrah.

Dignitaries near and far traveled down the Nile for a glimpse of their new prince. Each brought superfluous gifts and poetic words of praise for the infant. Meskhenet never surrendered the protective hold of her darling boy, not for the slightest of moments. She vowed never to let anything happen to her precious little prince. Every night for three years, the queen feared she would wake to find Kahmunrah lifeless—taken from her forever. The entire world faded into a blur when she was with him, no sounds, or smells, just the weight of him in her arms and the sight of his smiling face to greet her. She gave him everything he could possibly want. Kah would fuss, and she would swiftly soothe him with sweet words and promises. At night, Meskhenet sang to him as she held him to her breast, telling him he was the sweetest boy in all of Egypt. She swore one day he would be king, and the people would kneel before him, just as they did for his father.

For those first three years, the king and queen both doted upon their child. They showered Kahmunrah with the love and affection every child could ever wish for. He laughed and played with the other servant children and household pets, making friends with anyone, or any creature he came upon. It was not until his fourth year that Kahmunrah’s frequent tantrums became less endearing. Yet, Meskhenet never thought to punish the boy despite Merenkahre’s wishes.

“He is a prince, Meren,” she would tell her husband. “A prince may do as he pleases.”

By the time Kahmunrah was four, his days of laughter and friendship shifted. He only found joy when he was pulling the tails of cats or the hair of little servant girls. The days of carefree benevolence were behind him. Meskhenet only played into his behavior, punishing him with nothing more than a slap to his wrist. Still, Merenkahre urged his wife to not be so lax with their son. The queen, however, felt differently.

It was that ongoing disagreement that severed the bond Merenkahre and Meskhenet once shared. No matter how he pressed, his queen was adamant that she knew what was best for their son. 

On the Eve of Wep-renpet—the Egyptian new year—the pharaoh welcomed leaders and their families from across the land to a festival. He craved a distraction from the labors of ruling and dealing with his wife and son. Nobles: governors, mayors, and generals alike filled the palace halls, providing ample company for the pharaoh. During one of the many nightly feasts, a beautiful young woman, Shepseheret, caught Merenkahre’s eye. She glittered the brightest in a palace full of treasures, and the pharaoh yearned to know her.

In truth, Merenkarhre never loved his queen—not how a husband should love his wife; she was his sister, and he would always love her as his sister. But Shepseheret—she was like the sun on a cloudy day, the cool breeze in the arid desert air, and his heart had never felt so full until he had met her.

He called upon her many times, his stoic demeanor melting away with her pearlescent smile; he was like wax to that smile. For the first time in all his years, Merenkahre tasted a happiness he never had before, and he vowed not to let that tingle fade into nothing.

Within the year, Merenkahre wed his beautiful Shepesheret, and it was their union that further drove Meskhenet to coddle her son. Unlike her husband, she did love him with all she had in her heart. They were inseparable as children, so she thought it would be as husband and wife. And when Merenkahre wed another, only Kahmunrah could fill the emptiness inside that their marriage tore into her.

It was not her place to tell a king whom he could and could not share his bed with, but that prang of jealousy that stirred each time Shepseret passed Merenkahre a smile, or he tenderly kissed her, was hard to quell. The sight kindled an ache that surged throughout her body the likes of which she had never known. Not even baring children crippled her with such pain. All she could do was watch in dutiful silence.

It was the queen’s bitterness that spilled into Kahmunrah’s young mind, mixing with every promise she cast upon him that one day he would be king. No one could take that joy away from her precious prince—no one. 

***

“Are you certain?” Merenkahre asked the healer that had just examined his first wife.

“Yes, my king. The queen carries another child—a blessing from the gods.” The man in the billowing robes left the secluded room in the healing temple to allow the pharaoh and his wife privacy.

It had been near a year since his marriage to his love, Shepseheret, when he had all but forsaken his first family. The notion burdened him with a pang of deep guilt he couldn’t shake. Meren shared one, maybe two, nights a week with his queen—as was his duty—but most, he spent with Shepseheret.

“Are you displeased?” Meskehent asked, trying to read her husband’s features.

“No,” he said quickly. The room fell quiet, and the pharaoh knelt beside his wife and his young son, an apologetic half-smile stretching over his closed lips.

“I am sorry if I have been absent of late,” he expressed wholeheartedly.

“I know you love her,” Meskhenet sighed, and he hated the sadness that ghosted over her features.

“I love you,” the pharaoh stressed. “But…" he didn’t know how to say it.

“I know, Meren. I know what I am to you. And I do not blame you for not being able to look past it.”

Later, while the queen spent the night under the watchful eyes of the healers, the pharaoh walked his young son back to the chambers they shared. As they strode, Kahmunrah asked when he would begin learning how to be king—claiming his mother assured him the teachings would begin soon.

Kah was five, precocious, and still hot-headed for one so young. His eagerness, however, painted a grin to Merenkahre’s face as he spoke.

“When you are old enough, my son.”

“I’m five!” he stamped his foot.

“And I did not have my first lesson until I was at least six,” Merenkahre told the boy. “Be patient.“

Kahmunrah’s dark eyes glared at his father, and he pouted, making it obvious he was not pleased with the answer. 

“I do not want to wait!” Kah stomped his little foot again. “Learn now!”

“A king should never pout,” Meren warned his son sternly. “And never asks for things before they can be given.”

Kahmunrah shook his head, his pout growing. “Mother says kings get what they want.”

Merenkahre sighed, biting his bottom lip and picked up his son saying nothing more. Come morning he would need to speak with his queen. Filling their boy’s head with such notions was unwise; a spoiled king could never be a good king.

Meskhenet–despite her promise to her husband—still filled Kahmunrah’s head with ideas. She promised that no other child could ever overshadow him: he was the pharaoh’s firstborn, and the firstborn always became Pharaoh.

***

It rained the night the queen went into labor, a storm that no one living could remember its equal. Meren did his best not to see it as an omen—a sign from the gods that night would bring more sorrow than joy. However, he could almost sense malaise in every lightning strike and every drop of rain that fell upon the palace roof. Louder were the sounds of his wife; her cries echoing grossly in the halls outside the birthhouse. Kahmunrah sat beside his father, an anxious look about him—not entirely sure what was happening or why his mother was screaming. But that didn’t stop the six-year-old from asking. 

“Why can I not be with her?” Kah asked, a frown on his lips. “I want to be with her!”

Meren held his son’s hand, gently soothing him as best he could when the sounds of the storm and his wife’s cries began to put him just as uneased as his son. Then suddenly, there was only the roar of the rain and the distant rumble of thunder–all the screaming had gone quiet.

Merenkahre stood, waiting to hear if anything—the sobbing of and infant—would follow that eerie silence, but the only sound was the storm. He knew what that deafening silence meant. He knew his heart should have been more broken than it was when he burst through those chamber doors and found his wife lifeless as well as their child. But all he did was hang his head and offer a prayer for his fallen queen—no tears.

“Mother!” Merenkahre caught his son by the arm before he could run to her.

“Let me go!”

“Kah,” Merenkahre said sternly, fighting to restrain the boy. “Kahmunrah, you will listen to me!”

The boy looked at his father, anger, and fear in his expression that made his heart sink.

“Your mother is gone,” Meren said, his voice growing gentle as he knelt to the boy’s level. “We must pray that her soul has passed to The Field of Reeds, where we will see her again, do you understand?”

Tears welled in Kahmunrah’s eyes, and he nodded.

“You must be strong,” Meren said, wiping the tiny droplets from his son’s face. “A king is strong.”

Shepseheret came to them then, wrapping the pharaoh in her arms and offering him her deepest sympathies. She tried the same with Kahmunrah, kneeling to embrace the boy in a motherly gesture, but he pushed her away.

“NO!” he shouted, wrangling free of both and sprinting to his mother’s side, demanding that someone bring her back to him.

***

The nation mourned the loss of their queen for near a week. Several days of temple gatherings and sullen feasts intended to ease the grieving process and celebrate life followed Meskhenet’s death. None of it helped Kahmunrah. He was angry and confused; angry his mother would leave him, and confused as to how or why such a thing would happen to him—a prince. He missed her smile, and her tender embraces. He missed her songs and how she preened him each night. He missed how she would tell him how powerful a king he would one day be. His father didn’t love him as she had, and he missed her. 

The month that followed Meskhent’s death, Merenkarhe named Shepseheret his new queen—a notion that even at six, Kah resented.

“You replaced mother!” 

“A pharaoh must always have a queen so that Egypt can have heirs who can one-day rule,” Merenkahre explained.

“But you have me; I will be king one day!”

Merenkahre offered only a smile and no reassurance. Kahmunrah was nearly seven and still harbored more aggression and arrogance than any boy should. Power would only amplify his haughtiness, and such traits never made for a good king.

In an effort to allay that nagging feeling in his stomach, and to distract his son from the grief he carried, Meren began teaching Kahmunrah lessons that would benefit a future king. He started slowly; every night the pharaoh would put his son to bed with retellings of the empire’s histories: stories of the pharaohs of old. Kah would listen wide-eyed with wonderment, claiming the conquerer kings to be his favorite. By his seventh year, Meren began allowing Kahmunrah to stand at his side during civil meetings in the throne room. He hoped the boy would learn as he observed, how to act in a just manner instead of rashly.

For several months, Kah watched attentively and quietly, seeming to absorb everything. Grief no longer plagued him, nor did his temper it seemed. That notion, however, was short-lived. When Meren encouraged his son to freely voice his own suggestions on matters, the solutions he found often were unwise or even cruel. The pharaoh urged his son to think rationally, and when his son continued to act out with bitterness, Merenkahre knew Egypt would never survive his son’s rule.

Despite his better judgment, Merenkahre continued guiding his son, hoping to see a break in his hot-headed demeanor. However, the pharaoh prayed night and day for the gods to bless him and his new queen with another son. When Shepseheret announced she was with child, the pharaoh was thrilled. Kahmunrah, however, saw his false mother’s pregnancy as a slight against himself. In the princes’ eyes, she was trying to replace him, just as his father had replaced his mother.

Kahmunrah was eight by the time his sister was born: Sepsahet, a smiley, healthy princess whom Kah had no interest in. He recalled his mother’s words with every new sibling: he was first born to the pharaoh, and firstborn would always inherit the throne of Egypt. 

As the prince grew older, his temper and love for violence grew with him. In return, Merenkahre’s lessons became more and more seldom. No longer was he called to stand at his side during civil matters or in council meetings. The only love Kah had in his heart was for his mother, and Meren saw it. Everything else was a blackness writhing bitterly in his small form; he could never love the people as a king should.

By his thirteenth year, Kah’s lessons stopped entirely, causing the anger in him to fester.

The king and queen were blessed with two more daughters, Sabahotet and Sepuntet, and once again, Kahmunrah feared that with each sibling, his father was seeking to replace him. That pang of paranoia seeped into his growing mind, making him volatile, making each outburst more erratic and abusive. The servants took the brunt of his wrath. The prince found joy seeing the fear on their faces when he punished them for the slightest inconvenience. Even his sisters fell victim to his behavior 

From the moment Merenkahre made her his bride, Shepseheret had always tried to show kindness to the kings’ son; never more so then when he lost his mother. She too knew that pain, and knew how hard it was to live in a world without someone she loved. So she took it upon herself to shower the young prince with motherly kindness despite his obvious dislike of her, and she never blamed him for that. It was only when his actions threatened her own children that she took it upon herself to discipline Kahmunrah, which made him dislike her all the more.

***

At fourteen, Kah felt powerful. He knew his father was crowned at fifteen, and in his mind his lessons stopped only because his father wanted him to learn his trade while holding the highest mantel. His coronation was surely coming, and he was ready. He strode around the halls with an entourage of guards—all of whom he knew were loyal to him; he’d made sure of that before paying them handsomely. He did not want just anyone making sure he was kept alive. Medjay were loyal to his father. The house guards were loyal to anyone under the pharaohs’ roof; but the men he’d gathered, they saw him, just as he did: a god amongst man.

It was late in the evening when the prince found himself sent to a cell. The matter had started when his sisters ran upon him while they were playing. They dashed around him laughing, circling his legs twice, causing Kah to trip and fall under the watchful eyes of his men and the advisors in the hall. Without meaning to, they had made a fool of him.

When he brought himself back to his feet, he did so while brandishing the weapon on his hip, his vision clouding with red. The fear in his little sister’s eyes fueled that fire inside of him and without so much as a thought, he ran after them with his weapon held high. No one made a fool out of Kahmunrah, most of all his sisters. 

Where it not for the guards who were present, he would have caught them.

Three men held him back and disarmed him, the fourth scooping the young princesses into his arms in an act of rescue. All of them were brought before the king and queen.

Kah had never seen such anger in his false mother’s eyes, and for a moment, he took pride in having filled her with such fury. It was the only time he considered the notion of thinking of her as his mother. 

“Meren, something has got to be done!” she demanded, clutching her newborn to her chest—another girl. “I have been idle, but he could have killed them. _Your daughters._ ”

Kah did not try to fight the men restraining him; he just watched his father’s expression shift from anger to grief and back to anger. It was a game to the prince, and he never feared he’d lose, but that night he knew he should have.

“Kahmunrah, I have been nothing but lenient in regard to your actions,” his father stated firmly, his lips pressed into a hard line. “Surely you know by now that you are replaceable. Kings do not act rashly as you always have. Kings do not harm little girls and threaten their sisters. Everything your mother told you was nothing more than a sweet story to calm an angry child. I would be a fool to leave my kingdom to you.”

Kahmunrah held his father’s gaze with a heavy leer for a long time, feeling rage brew in his gut and surge through his nerves like lightning. He lunged, breaking free of the guards restraining him, coming at his father with that fire in him, but Meren’s Medjay got to him first. He fought against them too, flailing and shouting a hundred different threats.

“I curse any other son born unto you!” Kah spat. “I am your firstborn! Your heir! You will not deny me what is mine!”

Merenkahre’s features lost every ounce of fatherly compassion, twisting into a rigid, animalistic scowl that broke Kah’s fiery composure slightly. The pharaoh held himself to his full height, chest out and chin raised in challenge, stepping through his blockade of protectors.

“If you wish to act as a heathen, then you will be treated as a heathen.” Meren’s fierce gaze never left his son. “Lock him away.”

Kahmunrah spent three weeks in the tomb-like walls of the cells. Without the worldly comforts he had grown accustomed to, the prince was begging forgiveness by the end of the second day, but Merenkahre remained adamant his son stay imprisoned long enough to break him of his cruel demeanor. Every afternoon the pharaoh sent guards to check on Kah, bringing him meals of simplistic means—not the grand feasts the boy was used to. Finally, at the end of the third week, Merenkahre ventured to visit his son with a plan in mind that he hoped would keep him preoccupied. 

“I thought you had forsaken me, father,” Kah quipped peering at the pharaoh through the iron bars.

The anger and bitterness were palpable in the dank air, but Merenkahre kept his composure strong–he had nothing to feel guilty about.

“You acted like an animal, so I treated you like one. I gain no pleasure seeing you like this. You are my son, and I love you, but I will not condone what you did.”

Kahmunrah watched his father carefully through narrowed eyes until his own composure folded under the vehement but oddly compassionate leer of his father.

“Why have you come,” Kah sighed finally.

“I have come to free you.” 

“Free me?” “Yes,” Meren said lightly. “My Consul of Montu, Badru has asked for you specifically. He wishes to name you his apprentice.”

“But the crown?” Kah said through narrowed eyes, suddenly suspicious.

“Do you remember the conqueror kings you so admired as a boy,” Meren pressed. “Where is it do you think they got their start? Under his supervision, you will learn skills like a soldier as well as the decision of a ruler.”

It only took Kahmunrah a moment to consider his father’s offer, intrigued by the concept of learning to fight and how to wage wars. With a slow smile, he agreed.

“Very good,” Merenkahre smiled. He called for the guard to release his son. “I am sorry.”

Kah nodded a simple show of his forgiveness and followed his father to meet with the man named Badru 

For a while, acting as an apprentice to Badru was enough to distract Kahmunrah from the life he felt owed. He thanked his father for lending him the opportunity to practice alongside powerful and skilled men. He learned everything from the spear to the sword to archery. He found ease in all methods of destruction and he knew one day, they would be of use to him. Badru taught him how to lay siege to a capital, how to drive an enemy out, how to hunt them and Kah took to it all like a sponge. At fifteen, he was a master of it all and for the first time since his mother had passed, he felt happy. That was until the word reached him about the birth of Prince Ahkmenrah—his new baby brother.


	2. Chapter One: The Boy Who Would Be King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a son is born to the King and Queen, Kahmunrah cannot help but to feel as though he has been tossed aside. Merenkahre is joyous upon his son; Ahkmenrah’s arrival and gifts him with a magical tablet and a loyal Medjay to watch over him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone who commented, and gave this kudos last week! It was just a few of you but my heart is full and I am so very grateful. Nothing but love for all of you! Also as a disclaimer, I am not an ancient Egyptian expert, and google only knows so much. So yeah, I took so historical liberties while writing this to make my life easier, but tried to keep it as “authentic” as possible

The celebration that Merenkahre threw to honor the birth of his new son was the greatest feast Egypt had ever seen. A great many prayed for the boy’s arrival, none so much as the pharaoh. For Kah, all the revelry managed to do was drive that gnawing sense of jealousy and bitterness deeper. He could remember each of the celebrations that had accompanied the births of his sisters. Comparatively, they had been trivial; a mere few hours of merrymaking over dinner and nothing like the feast to honor Ahkmenrah.

Noble houses from cities up and down the Nile were invited to join in on the splendor; mayors and governors, who brought trinkets and finery as gifts for their new prince. It all made Kah’s nostrils flare, and his teeth grind. Shepseheret, his false mother, paraded the boy around like some sort of prize, and all the women fussed over his dark curls and wide eyes. _“How handsome a prince he will be!”_ they would exclaim, and Kahmunrah’s anger rooted deeper. The boy was less than a week old, and Kah hated him.

Kah sat slouched at a table with his sisters, watching and radiating the ire cumulating inside of him. His sisters knew better than to involve him in their excitement, sitting far at the other end of the long table. He made sure to remind them—often—that he never wanted to have anything to do with them—they were beneath him. They too fawned and prattled about their new baby brother, smitten just like everyone else in attendance, making Kah that much more irritable. 

“I remember when you were born,” the pharaoh’s voice startled him out of a wrathful stupor, and Kah turned to look at his father who had placed himself in the adjacent chair. “Your mother paraded you around just as proudly but refused to let anyone touch you. You were so very precious to her.”

Some of the anger fizzled out of him, the pang of grief much too sharp for anything to hinder it. Even so, Kahmunrah said nothing.

“I know she would be proud to see the man you have become,” Merenkahre patted his son on the back. “Badru hopes to name you Consul of War in his stead when he steps down—a great honor. It will bring me joy to see you in a seat at my council.”

Kahmunrah nodded, “I look forward to that as well, father.”

The pharaoh lingered, watching the jovial commotion from afar, his hand still resting on his eldest son’s shoulder. Without another word, Meren stood, cast his son a small smile, then strode back to his wife and new son.

Kah did want a seat at his father’s table—the highest seat. However, that future he had always wanted suddenly lost its guarantee. That little boy in the queen’s arms had more power than Kah ever would. Merenkahre could smooth over anything, but Kahmunrah knew; his brother was going to take the one thing he had always wanted.

Kahmunrah hated him.

The party droned on well into the night, the sky sinking into an inky black canvas of glittering stars and silver moonlight. To most, it would have been a beautiful sight, but to Kah, that dark heaven was a mirror of his own fortune.

“My friends!” the pharaoh’s voice rang out over the garden festivities in a robust timbre that quieted all the merrymaking. “My lovely queen and I wish the thank all of you for your kindness, and your gifts, and for partaking in this celebration to honor Prince Ahkmenrah.”

A slight cheer resonated throughout the crowd in a wave of smiles, and Kah sneered.

“Before this night ends, I would like to bestow upon this precious child a gift of my own.” Merenkahre turned and gestured for the robed priests to step forward.

From a distance, it was difficult to see what they held, a parcel of some kind covered with a bit of cloth. Kah watched with furrowed brows at the exchange happening between his father and the robed man with the gift; he was chanting something, but not loud enough to hear. When his lips stopped their moving, a flash of golden light radiated from under the piece of cloth, and the priest bowed and handed over the parcel. 

“My son,” Merenkahre smiled, artfully removing the cloth to reveal a piece of solid gold. “I present you with The Tablet of Ahkmenrah– blessed by the great god Khonsu; may it’s magic guide and protect you, in this life and the next!”

All at once, that jealousy burning like dying embers inside of Kah ignited, spreading throughout him in a ravenous wave that cast everything he could see in hues of red. That gift was the evidence he needed to know that he would always be the lesser child. Merenkahre had never given him an elaborate, magical gift; the pharaoh had handed him off to Bardu, under the guise that training would make him a better king. It was clear his father was just biding his time until someone could replace him. Ahkmenrah would surly be crowned, and Kah hated him. 

***

The night was in its adolescence when the festivities began to die out. Families staying at the palace slowly found their way back inside, while others made their leave with the entourage they had arrived with. Merenkahre sent them all on their way with well wishes and his thanks before he too wandered back into the grand halls of his palace. 

The corridors were mostly vacant, apart from the household guard, when Merenkahre took his time strolling back to his chambers, reveling in the joy that encompassed him, thinking about his son. He was grateful to the gods for sending him Ahkmenrah and vowed that his second son would be raised to show kindness in all things for the good of himself, and the good of the people he would one-day rule.

A small part of the pharaoh hated to deny his firstborn what, by birthright, belonged to him, but Kah’s demeanor would cause the land to suffer. A king who thought only for himself would lead their empire to ruin. A sort of selflessness went into ruling, and his eldest son would never understand that sort of sacrifice.

Meren gestured for the two Medjay guards standing sentry outside of the royal bedchambers to follow him inside. The interior was lit dimly, the distant fragrance of lotus and jasmine coloring the air from the gardens beyond the open balcony. Shepseheret smiled as he entered, gingerly clutching the sleeping prince to her chest. His wife was never more beautiful than when she was radiating the joy of motherhood. She was ethereal each time and Merenkahre always found himself utterly spellbound by her every movement. He kissed her softly, his hands resting in feather-light touches at either side of her face. Her smile grew when they parted, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth as she gazed at him from under her long lashes.

“My king?”

The Pharaoh turned to find the two men he’d ordered to follow, dutifully waiting to be given orders. He almost forgot about them, and his eyes fell upon the tablet hidden under a thick cut of linen on the table at the center of the room.

“Ah, yes,” Meren said, offering them an apologetic smile.

He quickly crossed the room and retrieved the golden gift and handed it to one of the Medjay.

“Will you see to it that this is placed in the temple- under the shrine of Khonsu, where it will be safe? The power bestowed upon these golden plates must never be misused.” A twinge of fear seeped into the pharaoh’s voice as he spoke; the very same fear that inspired him to have such a curio forged. The fear that his darling son’s life would be cut short.

“Of course, my king,” the man bowed his head and held the tablet close.

“Thank you,” he inclined his head approvingly. “Also, bring me that boy we spoke of earlier, Kamuzu, I believe was his name. I have a task for him, should he choose to take it.”

Both Medjay nodded their understanding and left without saying another word. Meren watched them go until the doors were shut, and he was alone with his queen. After a night of jubilation, he took a moment to rejoice in the tranquil quiet of his private bedchamber—Shep’s gentle humming the only sound.

“Did you speak with Kahmunrah?” his queen asked gently, her focus still on the boy sleeping in her arms.

“I did.”

“I am worried about him,” a hint of sadness touched her voice, and she glanced up to meet her husband’s eyes. “He has never really taken to me as I had hoped.”

“His mother coddled him too much,” Meren said pragmatically. “As a result, he expects all things to be handed to him, and when they are not, he acts out.”

The pharaoh paused, methodically removing the golden bracers from his wrists as he thought.

“I fear to think how he will react when I refuse to hand him my throne,“ Meren spoke more to the table than to his wife, setting the jeweled cuffs in the place the tablet once occupied.

He hoped his son knew already the path he would lead now that another son was born. Yet, Merenkahre knew Kahmunrah would cling to the diminishing hope his mother planted in his young mind until the very end

“It is wise, Meren,” she said gently, reaching to caress his arm. “I would have no quarrel if Kah were to be king over my children, if he was a man like you.”

The pharaoh rubbed his naked wrists until the phantom feel of his heavy bracers no longer weighed on him. He had been auspicious in marrying a woman who was so kind with a heart large enough for so many, including a boy who was cruel to her. Often the pharaoh felt undeserving of her benevolence when so much of his youth had been shrouded in violence. He fought wars alongside his father. He had killed men— _enjoyed_ killing men—for the sake of Egypt.

_Kah_ is _a man like me…_

A knock on their chamber door plucked the pharaoh from his thoughts, and he turned as he spoke, “Enter.”

A young man with dark skin came into the room unaccompanied, dressed in usual Madjay uniform with a khopesh hanging from the belt of his sherndyt. He was lean and muscular, with his hair pulled into neat, long braids. He kneeled before the king and queen in greeting and made no utterance.

“You may rise,” Meren told the boy, motioning that he step forward.

The young Medjay named Kamuzu did as he was asked, but kept a respectful distance and his head bowed.

“What is it that I may do for you, your majesties?” he asked in his deep voice.

“First, might I introduce to you my son, Ahkmenrah,” Meren smiled at the boy still soundly sleeping in Shepseheret’s arms; his hand clasped around one of her fingers. 

“The prince is healthy?” Kamuzu asked, watching Ahkmenrah with attentive, dark eyes.

“So the healers say,” the pharaoh mused, hoping they were right.

Merenkahre turned back to Kamuzu, straightening his posture and getting to business. “How long ago was it that you joined the sacred order of the Medjay?”

“Five years, my king—the start of my fifteenth year”

“Your brothers in arms have told me that you show outstanding skill for your age as well as bravery and loyalty—all fine feats for a Medjay.” Merenkahre smiled at the young man.

“Thank you, my king.” 

“I have asked you here, because it is my wish that you take these attributes and use them to watch over my son. From this moment, until your dying moment, would you protect the Prince Ahkmenrah?”

It took a moment for the pharaohs request to register and finally Kamuzu dropped to his knees.

“You honor me, my king,” he said. “I vow to watch over the prince, from this night, and for all the nights to come.”

The pharaoh motioned for him to rise, and he could tell there was something the boy wanted to ask, but his training and his dutifulness kept him from saying anything.

“You may speak freely,” Meren urged kindly.

Kamuzu pursed his lips and hesitated, all while keeping from meeting the king’s gaze, “I do not mean to offend, but why apply such watchful protection over this child and not your others?”

Merenkahre remained quiet for a long time, sifting through the sands of his thoughts, glancing back to his wife than to the young man. There was more than he wished for Shep to know, sorrows that he would fight to keep from his queen, to save her from the weight Meren felt on his shoulders and the knots tangling in is gut. 

“Walk with me,” the pharaoh gestured, placing a gentle hand on the young man’s back and guided them into the hall.

He let the boy’s question linger long after the chamber doors had closed, and the two were strolling quietly and absently through the halls.

“There are two concerns that haunt me, regarding my son’s well being,” Merenkahre confessed, speaking softly. “The first, I admit, is out of my own paranoia.”

Kamuzu’s dark eyes were watchful and attentive, and from that singular look of silent compassion, the pharaoh knew he had chosen the right man to protect his son.

“The night Ahkmenrah was born, I dreamt of a time of great sorrow in Egypt, and a boy lying on a funeral slab under a shroud of gold.” Meren’s face crinkled as the image flashed so vividly in his mind it pained him. The vision never revealed the boy’s face nor the reason for such an untimely death, but the thought still haunted Merenkahre.

“The second reason, is my son, Kahmunrah.”

A look akin to understanding flitted over Kamuzu’s features hearing the second concern.

“My first son, I fear is plagued with bitterness and jealousy. He sees no threat in his sisters, but a brother?” Meren paused, taking a deep breath. “Should that envy manifest—”

“I understand, my king,” Kamuzu said gently when the pharaoh couldn’t go on. “You may rest easy. I am honored to protect the prince from any threat. I will gladly lay down my life for him, should the time ever come.”

A sigh of relief escaped past the pharaoh sturdy composure. Knowing Ahkmenrah would always have someone to look out for him put to sleep many of the nagging fears raging inside Meren’s head. He didn’t care if he was being over cautious, it was for the sake of his own heart and the good of the empire to protect the son, he, and Shepseheret shared.

“It is you who has honored me this night with your loyalty, Kamuzu,” Meren shook the young man’s hand firmly, casting him a closed-lip smile. “Thank you. The gods will sing you praise.”

***

Ahkmenrah grew up, healthy and strong; hardly fussing and always smiling. For Kah, his baby brother delivered him a unique challenge. Every accidental glimpse of the child riddled him with hatred and envy, and the reminder that he was not the golden son his father longed for. He avoided the boy at all costs in an attempt to reign in his own jealousy. Kah hoped, that by burying that fury and keeping his focus on the task’s Badru assigned him, Merenkahre would see that he would always be the optimal son.

At 20, Kahmunrah held a significant rank in the pharaoh’s army, had fought numerous campaigns throughout the land, and finally got a taste of what real power could be. He had men who followed him; advisors respected his council and even his father cast him a proud smile the day he was granted a seat at the pharaoh’s counsel table. It was enough to sate his hunger for a time, but Kahmunrah would never truly be happy until he held the crown.

***

At the age of four, Merenkahre could see a world of difference in Ahkmenrah. At the same age, Kahmunrah was already bossy and cruel, with a temper only his mother could soothe. Ahk was all smiles, profoundly inquisitive and as kind as his mother. He toddled after his sisters, giggling wanting to play, and to learn. Traits that the pharaoh watched carefully, and encouraged so that as he grew, the prince would never lose them.

On the eve of the beginning of Ahkmenrah’s fifth year, Merenkahre called a special meeting with his council, early one morning before most of the palace had woken. The men at the table greeted him with practiced bows and offered him their unyielding attention—a collective question on each of their brows: why were they there?

“My friends, the queen, and I have come to a decision, that I now bring to you out of respect; so that I may weigh your thoughts with my own.” Merenkahre’s voice never stuttered or lost it’s robust bravado as he spoke. He knew in his heart that his ruling was wise.

The pharaoh’s team of advisors remained silent. The unspoken question pressing deeper onto their expressions as they waited.

“Come his fifteenth year, I will step down as pharaoh, and Ahkmenrah will be crowned king of this mighty empire.”

“You plan to deny Kahmunrah his crown?” it was Badru who spoke- Consul of Montu, and the man whom Merenkahre had charged with training his eldest son.

“I do,” the pharaoh said firmly. “Kahmunrah does not possess the traits of a good king. His feats are best used where he is. I will name him to my counsel, but nothing more.“

“He will not take kindly to this, my king,” Badru said, his tone steady but free of contempt.

“I know,” Meren sighed. “Which is why no one is to tell him; to save us and to save him from the bitterness that will surely plague him—for as long as we can.”

A hush fell over the interior of the council chamber as every man considered the pharaoh’s new ruling.

“For what it’s worth,” Badru spoke up. “I think it’s wise to name your youngest, king. Our people will thrive. But I fear for him too.”

Meren’s throat grew tight hearing the man’s warning, and he was reminded of the vision he’d had the night of Ahkmenrah’s birth: the boy under the golden shroud. He chased it away, however; along with the sick feeling that had accompanied it and went about the rest of the meeting, gaining nothing but support for the future Pharaoh Ahkmenrah.

***

In the middle of the prince’s fifth year, Merenkahre and Shepseheret welcome their last child, another girl, Shetshepsut. In some regards, little Set was Ahkmenrah’s twin; they shared the same smile and features: pouted lips and wide eyes, except hers were dark, but just as inquisitive. The prince was fascinated by his tiny sister, spending every moment around her and their mother; even begging to sleep in her crib so that he may keep her safe from everything that could harm her. 

“I have to protect her,” Ahkmenrah told his mother sternly as he clung to her leg while she laid the sleeping infant into her cradle.

“And why do you feel like you must protect her?” Shepseheret mused with a smile, tucking in her daughter.

“I am her brother,” the prince stated dutifully. “Her big brother.”

The smile on the queen’s lips grew tenfold, and she picked up her boy, kissing him on his cheek and hugging him.

“Oh my sweetest love,” she sang wistfully. “Your little sister is lucky to have you.”

Ahkmenrah smiled, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth and wrapped his tiny arms around his mother’s neck. He nestled himself there, and she held him even when her arms began to tire from his weight. Shepseheret loved all of her children, but Ahkmen’s gentleness made her heart swell to an impossible size every single time she witnessed it. He would surely do Egypt some good; as long as Kahmunrah did not try to take it from him.

Shepseheret willed those thoughts out of her mind and pulled her son away enough that she could look into his big, blue-grey eyes. “Your father, told me today that he wanted to speak to you in the throne room.”

Ahkmenrah’s face lit up.

“Do you think you can get there by yourself while I stay here and protect your sister?”

He nodded, “Yes! Kamuzu will go too.”

The queen kissed his cheek again and sat him back on the stone ground, “Mmhm, Kamuzu surely will.”

The little prince had always been taken with his Medjay protector. For a long time Ahkmenrah thought he was his big brother until Merenkahre informed him the only brother he had was Kahmunrah. That truth had put a frown on Ahk’s face, claiming that Kah did not like to play with him and watch out for him like Kamuzu did. 

Merenkahre was seated in his throne, his only company the legion of Medjay guarding the room. He had spent the better part of his day fighting off a twinge of guilt that had been writing in his gut since he’d woken with the notion of finally telling his second son that he would be king. Kah had been pleased enough to be given a seat at the council table, but something told Meren that taste of power would only make his son more envious when he learned he would never hold Egypt.

The sound of the throne room door opening pulled Merenkahre out of his thoughts and quirked his lips into a smile as his young son came running to him. Quickly, he pulled Ahkmenrah into his lap and the look on his son’s face was enough to steer away that lingering guilt. 

“Tell me, Ahkmen, what do you think it takes to be a king?”

The smile on the prince’s face faltered slightly, and he shrugged.

“Well, then let me teach you,” Meren gave his son a quick smile that Ahkmenrah returned, his wide eyes twinkling with the want to learn. “A king must be wise, and strong. He must take into consideration the thoughts of his councilors and act on not merely his own. And he must also be kind- there is power in kindness, Ahkmenrah. You must always remember that.”

The prince nodded, “Are you all those things?”

Merenkahre sighed, “I try to be—”

“I think you are a good king,” Ahkmenrah said with a sure grin.

“I believe you will be far better,” the pharaoh said, watching his son’s face to see if he understood.

Ahkmenrah’s tiny features contorted with confusion before settling on a look of gentle awe.

“I can be like you?” his wide eyes danced to the crown on his father’s head with wonderment.

“Would you like that?” Meren tested.

Ahkmenrah nodded, still transfixed with the golden headdress his father wore.

The pharaoh stood and placed his son on the throne, the sudden movement causing a slight giggle to sound from Ahkmenrah’s lips. Meren removed his crown and placed it on the prince's’ head. He giggled again when the wide rim fell almost to his nose—swallowing most of the boy’s head and the curls on top of it. The sight prompted a deep chuckle from the pharaoh’s chest, and he quickly committed it to his memory.

“Now, we mustn’t tell your brother, Kahmunrah, about these conversations that we have,” Merenkahre said sternly, placing his crown back onto his head. “Understand.”

The joy waned on his son’s face, and his tiny brows stitched together. “Why?”

So inquisitive– the pharaoh mused, “Because your brother needs to focus on his own lessons.”

It wasn’t a lie, but it felt like one. Merenkahre did not have it in him to tell his son the entire truth–a child need not know of their enemy so long as their parents were there to protect them.

Ahkmenrah accepted his father’s explanation without pressing the matter further and hopped down from the throne, toddling off with Kamuzu in tow. As Merenkahre watched his precious son leave, the vision of the boy under a funeral shroud filled his mind with fear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Two will but posted next Wednesday! :D Please let me know what you thought.


	3. Chapter Two: The Girl in the Garden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The young prince meets a servant girl called Nouke. The two become best friends, spending many days in the West Garden. As Ahkmenrah grows older, he learns that he must sacrifice his time with his friend to learn the lessons his father has to teach him. Responsibilities shift and Ahk and Nouke’s friendship is tested.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so SO glad to know a few of you who've found this are enjoying the piece so far! Thanks a million for the kudos and the comments! They make me smile!! 🥰 Again, as a disclaimer, I am not an ancient Egyptian expert and google only knows so much. So yeah, I took so historical liberties while writing this to make my life easier, but tried to keep it as “authentic” as possible

In the westernmost part of the palace was a garden, small in comparison to the grand courtyards where the king and queen hosted festivals throughout the year, but lusher and inherently more magical by far. On every side, the green paradise was surrounded by sturdy walls of sand-colored stone, apart from the open corridor that led back into the palace. The majority of those protective walls sat hidden by abundant foliage; lilies and shrubs and trees that fostered the illusion of no barriers at all.

At the center of the garden was a fountain with wide ledges perfect to sit and marvel at the prisms that danced across the surface of the water where lily pads floated. The air was always fragrant. Jasmine and lotus bloomed in abundance; their sweet perfume coupled with the fresh air created a welcomed reprieve from the scent of torch fire and papyrus that permeated the palace corridors. Beds of grass grew between the footstones and pathways while large palm trees sprung from the earth; their fanned leaves offering shade for the hottest afternoons. Within those walls, amid the green and vibrant blossoms, Shepseheret watched each of her children grow and play for many years.

That glittering, private oasis- nestled in a palace of gold, was Ahkmenrah’s favorite place in the world. Fore in that garden everything was soft and whimsical unlike the stone walls he called home. And in the shining green gem of a garden, the young prince met Anuksamun.

She was his age, with long wavy hair and skin a tone or two darker than his own. Her eyes were brown, but they sparkled like amber in the sunlight–not that Ahkmenrah paid much attention to such things at the age of six. It wasn’t for many years that those flakes of gold would make his heart flutter.

Anuksamun was the daughter of Maketaten: the queen’s maidservant and dear friend. Her father, Ramentukah was a soldier in the pharaoh’s army. The three of them lived humbly in the palace with many of the other servants–happy for the shelter the king and queen provided in return for their service and loyalty. It never occurred to Ahkmenrah that he was (as some would claim) better than his friend; all he knew was that she loved the West Garden just as much as he did.

Every evening, Ahkmenrah would gleefully follow his mother and baby sister to the garden, excited to see his friend. The queen and her maidservant would lounge in one of the patches of grass or on the edge of the fountain watching their children play; ducking in and out of the foliage or splashing in the cool waters of the central pool when the desert heat was significantly stifling.

Ahkmenrah never felt like a prince when he was chasing after his friend, giggling as the fresh air swept through his curls as he ran. She only ever called him “Ahk”; never once did she speak of him with the title of “my prince” like so many others. He loved that shortened version of his name. Every time she called for him; it made him smile, and in return, he called her Nouke–a name that found her smiling back at him just as widely.

While the sun was high overhead, Ahkmenrah was with his father, learning what it meant to rule a vast empire. Those mornings and afternoons never lent the same joy he found in the evenings with Nouke in the garden. Nevertheless, the prince cherished the teachings his father gifted unto him. He felt a sense of pride when he stood at his father’s side during civil meetings in the throne room and council meetings. Every aspect was enthralling for his young mind.

The older Ahkmenrah grew, the more he understood and admired the way his father ruled. Merenkahre was firm when he had to be but often kind when the circumstances could warrant gentleness. The respect he bestowed upon his subjects and advisors never went unreciprocated, and Ahkmenrah noted it all; filing it away safely in his mind, so he could remember in the future. He yearned to show the same devotion and compassion to the people of Egypt when it was his turn to wear the crown. The prince learned quickly and eagerly.

No matter how old he grew, or how long his lessons would take, Ahkmenrah would always return to the West Garden. The moment his father’s teaching would come to a close, the prince would thank him for his wisdom and guidance then run through the halls until he was encompassed in the magic of the lush green, and reunited with his favorite person in all the palace.

Since meeting Nouke, Ahkmenrah always missed her. Her spirit matched his own: that unwavering need for adventure. Nouke was warm like the sun but always changing like the moon; she constantly kept him guessing, and it thrilled him. Every game was her idea, and Ahkmenrah never failed to follow her lead- whatever it may be. The whole of his childhood was written within the limits of that garden, and when he was with Nouke, he wasn’t a prince of Egypt–shackled from birth to his duty. He was just Ahk; no more, no less.

For six years that was the routine Ahkmenrah was used to: days with his father and evenings with his friend. However, as they got older, a piece of him came to realize that before long, their adventures in the serenity of the garden would come to an end. By the time he was twelve, most of his lessons ate into the hours the prince was used to spending with Nouke. It made him sad to think of her alone in their garden with no one to keep her company, but a large part of him understood how important it was to learn his father’s trade. He could only hope that she understood too.

It was exceptionally hot the afternoon Ahkmenrah followed his father out of the palace and into the training yards located on the grounds. He’d often heard his brother speak of the open field where the pharaoh’s soldiers trained along with the Medjay. It was a new sight and Ahkmenrah’s hunger for adventure lent him attentive eyes. Men and boys, most around his age, were practicing with all manners of weapons; spears, bows, and the khopesh. Ahkmenrah watched them all, wondering why his father had brought him to such a place.

“Three times a week, we will be meeting here so that you may learn to defend yourself,” his father noted as though he had heard his son’s thoughts.

Merenkahre stopped a good distance away from the other sparing soldiers and turned to face his son. Kamuzu stood at his side, holding the same stoic expression that Ahkmenrah could never really make heads or tails of. The Medjay deftly removed the khopesh from its place on his hip and offered it wordlessly to the prince. Ahkmenrah’s brows furrowed and he blinked at the curved blade apprehensively, confused as to how this lesson applied to being king.

“Take it,” his father encouraged, easily drawing his own matching weapon. “Test its weight.”

Ahkmenrah bit his lip, eyeing the khopesh wearily a moment more before obeying. A gasp escaped his lungs in mild shock when the heavy weapon fell from his hands, and into the dirt–it was much heavier than he had thought. Quickly, he retrieved the blade and held it with a firm, two-handed grip, looking sheepishly back to his father. The ghost of a smile played around Merenkahre’s lips, which put Ahkmenrah more at ease.

“Test its weight,” he said again, slowly gliding his own blade through the air with one hand.

Ahkmenrah mimicked the movements as best he could; the weapons cumbersome weight almost too difficult for him to manage properly.

“Very good,” Merenkahre grinned.

“Am I going to learn everything as Kahmunrah has?” Ahkmenrah asked, suddenly more interested to learn.

His older brother only liked weapons and fighting; he found no beauty in gardens or shared the young princes’ sense of adventure. Thus, Ahkmenrah knew; Kah never wanted to be the big brother he wanted. But if he learned to fight, maybe he would like him more–the prince hoped so anyway.

A slight frown tinted the pharaoh’s expression, but he quickly hid it. “To a degree, I will teach you bow and spear and khopesh until you are comfortable enough with each.”

“Oh,” Ahk said, slightly disappointed. Kah only liked people who were as skilled as he was. “Okay.”

Ahkmenrah followed his father’s guidance, swinging the blade how he was instructed in repetitive motions, each one faster than the last until the weapon no longer felt so clumsy in his hands.

It was weeks before he was truly at ease with any kind of weapon in his hand. Still, he knew he would never harbor the same joy his brother seemed to when it came to such things.

“Am I going to learn how to strategize war next?” Ahkmenrah asked idly after a long day in the training yard.

His muscles ached as he walked back to the palace alongside his father and Kamuzu. Merenkahre didn’t answer right away, taking his time to think as his features grew pensive, causing Ahkmenrah to wonder what it was about his question that warranted such careful study.

“Your Consul of Montu will be responsible for such dealings,” Merenkahre decided, finally. “You must trust his word, should a time ever come that you need such knowledge.“

That made sense, but Ahkmenrah pressed anyway, “but didn’t you know how to–”

“I learned because my father needed men to fight in wars he wanted no part of,” Meren explained sternly. “Do you plan to seek out war during your reign?”

Ahkmenrah shook his head, folding under his father’s unusually intense gaze, “No.”

“Then what you have learned will suffice,” the pharaoh’s expression lightened as they neared the palace. “We are done for today. Your mother tells me you are missing a friend of yours–go.”

Ahkmenrah’s face lit up, all previous thought of war and fighting long behind him. He quickly thanked his father and took off running.

The sun had only begun to sink into the distant horizon when Ahkmenrah made it to his favorite garden. He’d only stopped on his journey long enough to scrounge up a snack that he could share. As a servant, Nouke and her family were given small rations and often went hungry–a thought the prince hated. It only took her offhandedly mentioning she’d gone without one day for Ahkmenrah to make a habit of bringing something from his own, abundant supply. She had refused the first time, too proud it seemed to want his help; it was only when he offered to share that Nouke would accept his offerings. He would purposely eat slower, letting her take as much as she needed, and he would smile; happy to have helped his friend.

Nouke sat on the edge of the shallow pool; her dark hair pulled into a loose braid- the slightly darker tan pigment of her skin glowing in Ra’ s golden rays. Her face was turned away, eyes fixated on the lily pad she glided over the water’s surface in absent motions. Even from a distance, and without the benefit of seeing her face, Ahkmenrah could tell a sadness had taken root in her. Something even the magic of their treasured garden could not properly deter. How long had it been since he had seen her? Days? Weeks? Much too long.

Her somber aura shifted however when Nouke caught sight of him with an idle glance. A gasp sounded on a quick inhale when her eyes met his–the lily pad forgotten. All of the gloom that had been constricting her spirit no longer bound her. She dazzled him with a smile that matched the sparkle in her eyes, and when she ran to greet him, she did so on fumbling feet, excitement quickening her gait to nearly a fault. Catching the blunder painted a grin onto the prince’s lips as his pace hastened too, eager to be near her.

“Ahk!” Nouke’s honey-sweet tone was like a song to his ears after weeks of nothing but his father’s gruff voice in his head. 

The sound alone was enough to pull his smile tighter and prompt his heart to beat more fervently (for whatever reason). Unceremoniously, she threw her arms around his shoulders, enveloping him with a friendly embrace, with sufficient force to almost send Ahkmenrah stumbling backward.

“I thought maybe you’d forgotten me.”

“Never,” he assured her, returning her hug with just as much warmth.

She was smiling even brighter than before when they pulled apart, her eyes meeting his gladly.

“Sorry I’ve been away so long,” Ahk said, brandishing a peace offering: a linen-wrapped bundle of fresh dates and figs to share.

She glanced at the proffered fruit, then back to him with silent rejoice before tugging him by the arm across the garden to one of the shady patches of grass. She gave his arm another yank, tugging him down to sit beside her. The cool patch of grass was a welcome contrast to the hours he spent under the sun in the training yard. He sat with his legs out in front of him, leaning back on his hands relishing in the soft textures and the company of his friend. Nouke waited patiently for him to pass her a portion of the food he had brought–like usual–and together they ate in content silence.

“I missed you,” Nouke said suddenly, in a rather sheepish tone that was unbefitting of her usual ebullient demeanor.

When the prince chanced to meet her gaze, he found she had spoken more to her food than to him, still, he smiled. He was so used to her exuberance, but he liked this timorous side of her as well.

“I missed you too,” Ahk said, sliding her the last two dates.

He could have eaten them easily, having worked up an apatite swinging a blade around the better part of an afternoon, but he had the luxury of ample meals whenever he called for one, unlike her.

The shy exterior melted into the lively attitude he was accustomed to, which had always lent a fullness inside of him that he couldn’t quite place. Nouke was the only person he knew to incite such a feeling.

“What is it your father’s been teaching you?” she asked, noshing on the last piece of fruit.

A tiny frown worked onto Ahk’s features, the shift in the curve of his mouth enough to elicit a slight ache in the muscles of his face. Nouke had always been curious about his lessons, and usually, he was happy to tell her the wisdom his father offered. However, after so much time away, Ahk didn’t want to discuss topics that had been pounded into his brain since he was six.

Ahkmenrah pulled absently at the green blades, and bit his bottom lip as he shrugged, “A lot of the same……just _more_.”

He sighed and when he caught her thin frown, he mustered a smile for her benefit, not wanting to burden her with his own troubles. It wasn’t right for him to complain, especially to her.

“He has been teaching me how to fight like Kahmunrah.”

“Oh?” she frowned, more out of wariness than sadness, but only briefly. “That must be fun. Is your brother helping?”

Ahk shook his head, “No.”

When he told his big brother that he was learning to fight, Ahkmenrah hoped it would spark some sort of kinship between them–a shared interest. Even a hint of intrigue would have been something. Instead, Kah had scoffed and pushed him out of his way. He didn’t understand why his brother treated him so.

“Sometimes I wish my father would make Kahmunrah pharaoh instead of me.”

Nouke glanced at him, surprise pressing a furrow onto her brow, “Why?”

Ahk shrugged, “I don’t want to spend my whole life in a palace. Kah isn’t going to be pharaoh, and he has traveled and seen so many places. I want to see them too.”

Nouke grew quiet, and he watched her thoughts manifest in waves of her pensive expressions, until a smile steadily unfurled across her features. Ahk smiled too, a reflex reaction to seeing her face light up with restored spirit.

“I think I know a way you can have a little adventure,” she told him before he could ask what had prompted her grin.

When she didn’t impart more of an explanation, intrigue contorted the prince’s face, his question written in the hook of his brow. Without a word, she tugged him off the cushion of grass and to his feet; he barely had time to find his footing before she was yanking him deeper into the garden. Ahkmenrah knew better than to ask where it was she was taking him; he followed her lead and reveled in the surge of thrill the mystery brought.

Nouke led him to the westernmost edges of the garden, skillfully cutting through the dense foliage that hid the towering wall until they were in the small space between the green brush and sand-colored stones. She stood for a moment, her hand still gripping his as she studied the bricks carefully.

“Nouke?” the prince asked, his eyes bouncing between her and the wall, then back to her.

She didn’t answer.

Instead, she surrendered his grasp and began pushing gently on individual stones, causing Ahk’s confusion to grow. He was about to ask her again when one of the bricks fell loose to the other side with a quiet thud.

“Found it!” Nouke beamed proudly.

Ahk’s mouth hung agape in awe, blinking as she pushed more of the bricks free until the breach was large enough to crawl through.

“How…?” 

“I had a lot of time to explore when you stopped visiting,” she explained with a shrug.

Ahk frowned, “Sorry.” 

“It’s okay. Now are you gonna follow me on an adventure or stay in these walls?”

She was already climbing through the opening with ease as she spoke. The prince bit his lip as he smiled and nodded. His heart was pounding and his whole body tingled with excitement; of course, he was going to follow his friend on an adventure–he would follow her anywhere.

“Kamuzu!” Ahk shouted, knowing it would be better to have someone to watch out for them than not.

“No,” Nouke frowned, gazing at him with concern from the other side of the wall.

“It’s okay, he won’t tell anyone where we go. He’ll just protect us,” he promised with a grin and deftly climbed through.

The sensation of hot sand beneath his feet for the first time was one the prince would never forget; it’s soft but coarse texture so alien but grand. Hundreds of tiny grains shifted and moved heedlessly around his toes–free–like he suddenly was. Ahk had only ever known the packed dirt of the training yard and the hard stone corridors of the palace. Sand was new, and it pulled a tight smile onto his lips.

Directly on the other side of the garden wall was a stretch of rural landscape that grew more arid the further west he looked beyond the Nile. All of it open and dotted with sparse, dried foliage: land that had yet to be peppered with stone structures. Along the banks of the mighty river green sprouted creating a striking contrast to the surrounding dry sands. It was like stepping from one magical garden into another, but this one had no walls.

Something ethereal washed over Ahkmenrah as he took in the grandeur of it all; the sights and smells and the horizon stretching out endlessly with nothing to keep him from running to where the sun was sinking into it. Everything he knew was encased in stone walls. It would have been so easy to venture into that vast countryside, but that sense of duty, that had been all but bred into him, kept him where he stood–yearning.

Nouke was already strolling along the riverbank, free of the yoke of responsibility. He was envious, to a degree, but not enough to hinder the joy he felt seeing her so uninhibited wading in the waters of the Nile. His feet sank into the sands as he stood watching her, finding the grains growing colder the deeper he rooted. Ahk wanted to follow her; he found himself glancing over his shoulder to the hole he had crawled out of.

Kamuzu managed to fit through and placed himself at the prince’s side, wearing the same stoical expression he always did.

“My father wouldn’t approve of me being outside the walls like this,” Ahk mused.

Kamuzu’s austere features softened, and one side of his mouth quirked into a slight smile, “Then we simply won’t tell him.”

With a nodding gesture, the Medjay encouraged the prince to join his friend. It was enough permission to chase away the invisible tether keeping his feet from moving, and with a flash of white teeth, Ahkmenrah grinned and ran to catch up with Nouke.

“Come feel the water, Ahk!” Nouke said, pulling him into the steadily flowing current of the Nile.

The water was up to their knees, and the cool rush around his legs was akin to the sand under his feet. The undeniable essence of life flowed around him, invigorating his senses and tingled every nerve in his body. The stagnant water in the pool of his garden would never compare to the constantly moving surge of the Nile. Ahk paid no attention to how wet his fine linen garments became; he wanted to stand there forever, feet buried in the soft river bed, water flowing freely around him as the sun warmed his shoulders. Nouke, however, took his hand and pulled him along with the current. The further from the palace they strode the less weight Ahkmenrah felt on his shoulders. There, he was just Ahk, and that was enough for him.

That stretch of bank along the mighty river became their second favorite place to venture. Many evenings that followed, Nouke and Ahk would tuck themselves away in their new oasis, a secret hideaway that allowed the masks of their reality to fall, letting them each be more and less than who they were meant to be.

*** 

Like the ever-changing waters of the Nile and the shifting desert’s sand, the passage of time reshaped even the closest of paths. Responsibilities grew more significant as they grew older; placing a very irrefutable wedge between Ahkmenrah and his friend from the garden. Though they oft fought it.

At thirteen, Nouke was no longer simply a child of a maidservant, but a servant herself. She was expected to see to many chores at any hour, keeping her from the garden of her youth. As for the prince, his time of wistful adventure ran out too; Ahkmenrah was rarely out of his father’s sight. Merenkahre’s lessons shifted into actions. The pharaoh had taken to surrendering his seat on the throne or at the council, allowing the prince a taste of the future that awaited him.

The first time his father sprung such a notion onto his shoulders, Ahkmenrah was sure his heart was going to beat right out of his chest. Every eye was on him, bearing down with a scrutiny that made his throat dry, and his palms sweat. He knew it was a test, one that he had been studying for most of his life. However, despite the years of shadowing his father’s every move, hearing his every command and testament, Ahkmenrah felt entirely out of his element. All his lessons were lost somewhere in the haze of his mind, and he desperately scrambled to recall what he had stored away. The only comfort was his father at his side.

Meren stood, mostly in silence, watching, lending quiet guidance, and solidarity. Even so, Ahkmenrah spent his first time as a ruler, with a white-knuckled grip to the armrest’s of the throne to keep his hands from shaking. That first time was the hardest. In the tests that followed, however, Ahkmenrah’s confidence built more and more until he could present himself with the same regality of his father.

After a month of afternoons seeing to civil matters and addressing the council like a king, Ahkmenrah had never been more comfortable with the path the gods had laid before him. However, despite the comfort he felt, the notion of being pharaoh–and not just playing at it–had not yet taken hold. In his mind, he still had much to learn, but when his father summoned him to an early council meeting to discuss how much he’d learned in such a short amount of time; Ahkmenrah knew, his time as ruler was fast approaching.

That particular council meeting began like any other. Merenkahre sat at his normal seat at the head of the table while Ahkmenrah sat attentively next to his brother a few seats away. Most of the talk was the usual chatter: matters that ranged from trivial to pressing. Each warranted equal amounts of discussion regardless of how frivolous–a lesson Ahk learned early much to his childish frustration. When all other affairs had been seen to properly, Merenkahre stood, causing a hush to befall the room.

“My friends, there is but one matter remaining that I wish to discuss,” the pharaoh’s line of sight moved to his youngest son, and Ahk shifted, suddenly nervous. “I have been blessed in my time as pharaoh, and it is my wish that the same will be for the pharaoh who follows me.”

Merenkahre smiled proudly upon Ahkmenrah and gestured for the other men to follow his gaze. “As you are all aware, it was my intention to crown Ahkmenrah during his fifteenth year. But, during these past few weeks, he has shown wisdom beyond his years, and aptitude that far surpassed mine at his age.”

Ahkmenrah’s stomach twisted into a knot, and his heart was beating rapidly. Still, the prince held onto his composure, listening to his father, while sneaking side glances to Kahmunrah–seeing his indifferent expression meld into a disapproving sneer.

“Thus, I feel it is time, that I step aside and let Ahkmenrah take his place among Egypt’s mighty pharaohs.” Merenkahre finished, holding his prideful simper.

A commotion broke out within the chamber as advisors sang praise to the pharaoh’s wisdom, all but one. Kahmunrah alone slouched into his chair, pouting, while the room congratulated the younger prince on his accomplishment. A lump grew in the back of Ahkmenrah’s throat; a cumulation of nerves, excitement, and a little guilt. No one had told Kahmunrah that he was never going to wear the crown, he figured it out on his own. And the bitterness it caused him had never been more palpable than in that moment.

Ahk swallowed that psychological clod in his throat before it grew large enough to choke him, and let his focus fall inward. A part of him considered forfeiting the crown with the demand that it be given to Kah so Ahkmenrah could spend his days exploring with Nouke. However, Ahkmenrah had endured years of teachings, and he wasn’t about to let his father’s teachings be for not. He didn’t want to let his father down, or his people. The prince wanted to be king, just not so soon.

“I’m not entirely sure he is prepared to rule, father,” Kahmunrah noted with an insouciant shrug.

Merenkahre shot his eldest son a vehement glare.

Kah raised his open palms as a sign of surrender, “I assure you; my reasoning does not come from my own desire to rule–”

“Then where?” Meren demanded.

“Your youngest son may possess the mind of a great ruler, but how can he rule the country if he does not know the country?”

The pharaoh’s intense leer waned as he considered Kah’s words thoroughly.

“I have seen much of this land,” Kah boasted. “The pyramids, where the Nile bleeds into the sea–I understand Egypt and her people. Ahkmenrah understands little more than the palace walls.”

The pensive expression on the pharaoh’s face melded back into a heavy suspicious leer.

“Are you suggesting that I crown you because you have seen all of these things?”

Kah’s jaw clenched as frustration strained his features, obviously upset his father gauged him with such mistrust. Nevertheless, Kahmunrah kept his tone even when he spoke his reply.

“My travels hardly give me merit to rule, father. I am simply suggesting the boy may appreciate the land and the people more if he sees them for himself.”

“Your son makes a fair point, my king,” one of the advisors noted.

“Yes,” another agreed. 

“And had you not seen much of the land and your people by the time you came to rule as well, father?” Kah added.

The pharaoh grew quiet again, rubbing his chin as he pondered. Ahk, however, sat, without finding words to speak, not entirely sure what was going to happen. It was rare Kah offered a suggestion that did not somehow benefit himself–Meren and Ahkmenrah knew that, which made the entire notion somewhat suspicious.

“And I suppose you want me to leave you in command while I am away with your brother?” Merenkahre tested, eyes growing narrow again.

Kah’s lips pressed into a firm line, his irritation becoming more difficult for him to stifle.

“You are the pharaoh, father. You will put into command whoever you think worthy,” his caustic tone matched his glance as he looked to Ahkmenrah and back to the pharaoh. “Just as you have always done.”

Ahk let his focus fall to the wood grain of the table in front of him, sinking lower in his chair, feeling Kah’s cold leer like daggers piercing his skin. He hated feeling guilty for something that was not completely his fault.

“Very well,” Merenkahre said finally. “I will think on this matter for a day, but it is likely the young prince, and I will soon be charting a course along the Nile.”

As the council adjourned, the apprehension that had been gnawing and tightening the knots in Ahkmenrah’s stomach slowly began to shift into something akin to excitement. Several of the advisors lingered, speaking to his father and brother about potential places to venture, but the prince didn’t stick around to learn where it was he and his father may be going. He liked the surprise.

It was early in the day, and he was sure there were to be more lessons awaiting him, but Ahkmenrah excused himself without a word, wanting nothing more at that moment then to share the good news with his best friend.

He went to their garden first in search of Nouke, but apart from the colorful birds, flitting throughout the greenery, it was empty. Curiosity pulled him deeper into the garden however, when his eyes scanned the furthest line of foliage, knowing the secret passage hidden behind the bushes. But, all the stones were as they should be; she was somewhere in the palace, and while a frown threatened to curl his lips downward, Akh would not let his excitement be hindered.

The prince wandered the grounds the better part of an hour before he found her among a group of maidservants, hanging washed linens to dry in the sunny courtyard. Immediately, Ahk’s heart fluttered and beat faster and his smile spread across his face with tingling fervor. A chorus of surprised gasps echoed as he cut through the gathered women without ceremony. Some dropped to their knees while others bowed their heads respectfully, and all of them greeted him with a hushed “my, prince.” Nouke, however, beamed; giving him no such formal greeting. When Ahk took her hand, another gasp filled the open air of the courtyard, and the prince almost rolled his eyes at the drama of it all. Nouke didn’t ask when he whisked her away from her chores on hurried feet, she just laughed and held on to his hand like she would follow him wherever he wanted to take her.

Ahkmenrah was out of breath when he finally sat them down on the edge of the fountain in their garden. Nouke eyed him with amused confusion, waiting for his explanation with a soft smile painted on her lips.

“I have…to tell you…something…fantastic,” Ahk husked out between labored breaths.

Her dark eyes lit up, teaming with inquiry and that spirit he so admired. He took another moment or two to settle his breathing before he spoke.

“My father is going to take me on a trip to see the cities and landmarks of Egypt!” he was only vaguely aware of how fast he was talking; his excitement made it difficult for him not to. “It was Kah’s idea–he said a king should know his people. My father is going to make his ruling tomorrow and well…if he decides we are going; I’m going to ask that you come too.”

When he’d finished, Nouke’s excitement did not match his own, and that was enough to impede the joy he felt. She wasn’t even truly looking at him; her spirit dulled as she drew into her own thoughts.

“Nouke?” he asked gently, trying desperately to read her doleful aura.

She shook her head as her entire frame wilted, “I can’t go with you.”

Ahkmenrah’s face fell, and he met her sad eyes in silent question.

“I wish I could, Ahk. But I’m a servant. You’re a prince. Your father would never allow someone like me to go with you.”

She was right. Servants were not companions to princes. Nouke to him, however, was so much more than a servant, she was his friend; she always would be no matter her station. His father would not understand that though, and the notion yanked ravenously on his heartstrings. All at once, the idea of adventuring lost its luster if he couldn’t share those experiences with her; and for a second time, he considered giving up the crown.

“I look forward to the stories you’ll bring back,” she said casting him a smile he knew was for his benefit and nothing more. “Promise you will tell me everything as soon as you return.”

Ahkmenrah nodded, sadness in his tone, “I promise.”

It fell quiet in the garden for a long time, the only sound coming from the rustling leaves caught in the desert breeze and the songbirds that played among them. Ahk’s eyes followed their sound, envying the freedom their wings granted them; with a few flaps, they could soar miles away.

“I have to get back to work,” Nouke murmured, sounding as though she didn’t want to leave him.

She gave him another rueful smile, and he did his best to match it.

“My father is probably looking for me,” he said, also not wanting to leave.

Before he turned to say his good-bye, Nouke pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. Pink tinted her features and she smiled again, that time not quite as sad.

“Have fun on your adventure, Ahk.”

The prince watched her go, his fingers caressing the spot where she had so brazenly kissed him, feeling utterly torn. Ahkmenrah yearned to see Egypt’s centuries-old monuments and cultures, but part of him wished to stay in the palace forever where Nouke was. Surely a pharaoh who could do as he pleased could remain friends with a servant. The aching knot in his stomach, however, told him such a notion was not going to be so easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be posted next week! :) I do so love reading what you thought; what was your favorite part? What inspired you or upset you? Please don't be shy!


	4. Chapter Three: Across the Sands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For two years, the prince and the pharaoh travel Egypt in order for Ahkmenrah to better understand the land he would one day rule. Every new city and monument the prince meets fills his heart with wonder but he learns not everyone in his country wishes him to wear the crown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those of you who’ve been commenting, and leaving kudos are seriously so nice 🥰 they bring me buckets of smiles❤️ pretty sure my heart swells a bit too. Thank you all for giving this story a shot, and I hope you stick with it for the next 20 some chapters!

“In three days time, Prince Ahkmenrah and I will begin a pilgrimage that will last no longer than two years,” Merenkahre announced the next morning during another council meeting.

Ahkmenrah sat in his usual place next to his brother, struggling to survive the war in his head. Sleep had been elusive the night before; he pondered from the time the sun set and the sky turned black until the soft hues of morning lit the heavens. Everything was rapidly changing about his life, and he felt powerless to hinder its progression. Change was growth, and he was old enough to know that growth was good, but he wasn’t ready to give up the routine he had gotten so accustomed to. All those carefree evenings with his friend seemed somehow ages ago and Ahk missed them, just as much as he missed Nouke.

“And, to honor the wise suggestion of this venture, I will leave Kahmunrah to rule while I am away.”

The pharaoh’s unexpected decree prompted skeptical looks from more than a couple of the men sitting around the long table. However, they kept their obvious discord to themselves, muttering under their breath much too quietly for Ahk to make out. Kah stood immediately, showcasing a look of surprise and gratitude the likes of which Ahkmenrah had never seen his brother hold.

“You honor me, father,” Kah bowed with uncharacteristic sincerity.

“I trust you will honor me in return by taking this task I lend you with the utmost seriousness. You are to listen to my councilors as I do; consider their guidance before acting.”

“Of course,” Kahmunrah nodded.

“I will warn you,” the pharaoh spoke transparently. “This mantel I leave in your hands is not a kingship. While I am gone, I am still pharaoh. You will act in my stead, but all matters of extreme supremacy are to be brought to the Queen, and it will be her word, over yours.”

Ahkmenrah could almost feel his brother’s proud arrogance billow out of him like a hot breeze over the desert sands. His smug posture withered, and his face twisted back into its usual mask of apathy–plainly insulted by the limits Merenkahre put in place.

“So be it,” Kah huffed, falling back to slouch in his chair; arms folded tightly across his chest as he pouted shamelessly.

The pharaoh exhaled deeply, looking aside long enough to roll his eyes before turning his attention to his Grand Consul, his top advisor, Merhet. “Will you see that all arrangements are made: boats prepped and ready to sail three days hence?”

Merhet nodded, “It will be done, my pharaoh.”

***

Three days hardly seemed sufficient time to stock boats with enough provisions to last the duration of their impending journey, but the pharaoh’s men worked tirelessly and by nightfall on the third day, everything was in place. Ahkmenrah spent those few days on the high balcony of his bed-chamber watching the ships from afar, and the men tasked with readying them. He counted three in total to make up the fleet: one for guards and Medjay, another for food, and various other supplies. The grandest and most decorated was undeniably for the pharaoh and the prince. The sight fed his sense of adventure and the anxious need to finally go. And yet, Ahk could not stifle the part of him that wanted to stay.

The fourth morning arrived much quicker than the prince thought it would. He awoke with a smile and a tingling in his stomach that fueled his every movement in a swifter pace than normal. Ahk donned the nicest of his garments, the ones usually saved for celebrations or feasts–draping himself in finery. He figured the added embellishment was fitting. This was a celebration to him–the start of a journey–and he was going to treat the occasion how a prince was expected to. Each layer he added made him feel grander: robes of gold and jeweled wekesh that, in actuality, was much heavier upon his shoulders than he cared to admit. Still, he wore it all proudly.

For all the array that was the princes’ dress, the pharaoh’s was grander: leopard skin and heavy kohl around his eyes, with a scepter in his hand. Ahkmenrah never felt more proud seeing his father dressed so, and when he grinned at him, Merenkahre grinned back.

“Look at you both,” Shepseheret beamed.

She greeted them at the base of the palace stairs where the chariots were waiting to take the king and his son to the docks.

“My heart already misses you,” her eyes twinkled with tears as she continued to smile.

The pharaoh embraced his queen and left her with a long kiss.

“I will think of you every day,” he promised.

Shepseheret gave her husband another quick kiss before pulling Ahkmenrah into her arms for the tightest embrace he was certain he had ever received.

“Oh, my darling, Ahkmen.” She kissed his cheek. “Enjoy this journey.”

“I will, mother,” Ahkmenrah vowed, returning the gesture, kissing her cheek too.

As he began to turn and follow his father to the chariots, Setshepsut, his little sister, came running down the palace steps shouting his name with a look of fear upon her eight-year-old face.

“Ahkmen! Wait!” She crashed against his side and held onto him tightly. “Don’t forget me okay?”

The prince cast her a sweet smile and crouched to better meet her eye to eye.

“You mustn’t worry, Set,” Ahk said, gently wiping at the tears on her face. “I could never forget you. And I promise to bring back presents, alright?”

Setshepsut sniffed and her fear began to slowly lessen, “Alright.”

Ahkmenrah hugged his little sister properly for a long time, suddenly realizing how much he was going to miss her as well.

“You know my friend, Nouke?”

Set nodded.

“Will you do me a favor and look out for her, for me?”

The thought of leaving his friend alone for two years was starting to settle, and it yanked mercilessly on his heartstrings. A part of him needed to know she would be okay while he was away; he hated that he wasn’t going to be able to make sure she was being taken care of.

“Like you’ve watched out for me?” Set asked.

Ahkmenrah grinned, “Yes. Like how I have for you.”

His sister gave him a wide toothy smile, nodding her promise to look out for her big brother’s best friend.

“It is time, my prince.” Kamuzu’s deep voice bellowed from behind him, motioning toward the chariots, and Ahk eyed them wearily.

The pharaoh was already stationed regally in his, waiting for Ahkmenrha to join him. A battalion of guards and Medjay were lined up in perfect position as well.

To a degree, it looked as though they were readying to march off to war. Men held banners–sigils of prayer to the gods to watch over and bless their journey. Others were holding drums to steady the march of the impending parade. All of them had weapons on their belts or spears in their hands, and for a moment, the thought of leaving did feel like Ahk was preparing for battle.

With a deep breath, Ahkmenrah found his courage and joined his father.

It was only when the prince climbed into the chariot that everything became absolutely real. All the talk of the past three days finally coming to fruition. The adventure he always craved was starting; he would spend two years away from his family and his friend and his home. And once he returned; his father was going to crown him pharaoh.

All at once, every notion whirled through his mind making him excited, homesick, and nervous at the same time. As the palace gates opened and the parade lurched forward those teaming sensations rooted deeper. For the first time in all of his life, he was venturing beyond the palace walls without Nouke beside him, and the gravity of that notion tugged a frown on to his face. Frantically, his eyes searched the crowd of servants who gathered to see their pharaoh off–his heart racing with the fear that he wouldn’t find her in the chaos. But Nouke was there, right at the front alongside her mother and father, a doleful smile across her face, waving as he passed by.

The sound of drums and the braying of the horses pulling their chariots turned Ahkmenrah’s attention forward as the soldiers and the steeds marched in rhythm with every rolling thrum. The initial pace was slow–a rate that would take the better part of the afternoon to reach the ships waiting for them. But as the streets blossomed wider, the parade fell into a steady march that was less sluggish. The echoing sounds of procession coaxed commoners from their homes or to their windows, gathering with awe to catch a glimpse of their pharaoh and their prince.

Ahkmenrah had difficulty quelling the wholehearted smile curling onto his face, seeing life in Waset through a clearer lens. Every grinning face or look of wonderment he caught filled him with zeal and compassion. One day, they would be his people to guide and protect with the teachings of Maat–a lesson his father referred to often: the moral rule that helped the people know what was right and what was wrong.

The growing crowd coupled oddly with the knowledge of the duty that awaited his return. It was slightly more overwhelming than Ahkmenrah wanted to admit; a pang of anxiousness biting within the depths of his stomach as he smiled to his subjects despite it. The moment was bittersweet no matter how he looked at it. His predestined fate was to become a dutiful leader- a fact that he had learned at a young age, and one he would never be able to ignore. But at the same time, the child in him yearned for a piece of that undetermined life he saw in the care-free faces of the common people–to live a life without the looming strain of supreme responsibility. Ahkmenrah wanted to be a good king. In his heart, he knew he owed his father that peace, aware to some degree that Kahmunrah must have failed him. Ahkmenrah sought to make his father proud. A king had to make sacrifices (another lesson Merenkahre had repeated countless times over the years) and as he stood on the back of his chariot, seeing all the people dependent on him, Ahk knew the first sacrifice he would have to make was his childhood.

Once all the boats were loaded with personnel, the captains wasted no time in sailing north along the current.

Despite the lavish cabin on the royal ship, Ahkmenrah preferred the deck where he could watch the landscape change with every passing hour. It was there he watched his home shrink into the horizon, a sight that instilled him with a heavy wave of melancholy as he was reminded just how long it would be before he saw those familiar buildings again. The first night away was the toughest, missing his mother, his sister and his friend, but he found a peacefulness laid out in the map of the stars overhead. Ahk would settle himself near the bow of the boat, nestled against barrels and crates, gazing at the twinkling stars and the moon that ruled them.

The first city along their journey was almost as grand as the capital Ahkmenrah called home. Men-nefer was a sparkling metropolis nestled along the banks of the Nile, with the towering pyramids dotting the horizon. Countless narratives pulsed throughout the streets, stories of pharaohs of old that Ahk was anxious to explore. The history emitting from every building filled the prince with ample excitement, chacing away every ounce of his homesickness.

A man in fine raiment greeted them at the docks, Sefkh: Men-nefer’s governor. For the better part of two months, it was his grand home the pharaoh and the prince stayed to rest. Despite the change in scenery, little changed in the way of Ahk’s routine.

The prince wanted to wander the strange streets, see the sights first hand, and meet the people. But the most adventurous act was the morning he, Meren, and Sefkh ventured to pay their respects at the ancient pyramids. There were no words descriptive enough to adequately sum up the sense of reverence and bewilderment that accompanied standing at the base of the old tombs. Ahk wanted to stay there for hours to walk around every side so he could fully appreciate them as the marvel they were, but by early afternoon, he found himself back in the halls of Sefkh’s homestead.

The rest of the princes’ time was spent with his father, learning crucial lessons that would ensure he became a great king. What was new, however, was shadowing his father to city councils; seeing how governors ruled and protected simply their city and not the whole empire.

When the time came to move on, the ships at the port were resupplied, the pharaoh thanked their gracious hosts, and the prince and his father rode through the streets on their chariots waving to those who had gathered to see them off.

Every new city started and ended the same; with a parade through the streets to some mayor or governer’s grand house where they would stay for weeks or a month until the pharaoh decided it was time to move on. With every new sight and passing day, Ahkmenrah felt the hint of melancholy that plagued him vanish. Their odyssey stretched as far north as the mighty river could take them until the dull grey of the Nile bled into the vast blue water of the sea. Ahkmenrah yearned to sail deep into that horizon wondering what mysteries he would find on the other side, but their ships never strayed too far from shore, stopping at every major port city along the coast.

Fresh stories and cultures spilled into Ahkmenrah’s heart with every new metropolis–filling him with histories and tales that kept his spirited heart thrumming with fervor. Months became seasons and seasons turned to years, and before long, the palace and the ones he had left behind were as distant in his mind as the cities behind him.

One of the last cities their journey brought them to was the port city of Thonis, a thriving seaside town located amid the blue waters of the Mediterranean and the grey waters of the Nile River Delta. It was one of the few bustling spots that their train of ships drifted past to save for the return trip south to Waset. Ahkmenrah had watched in awe floating past, noticing the temple near the city’s shore, and promised himself to explore it given the opportunity. Comparatively, Thonis was much smaller than most of the places they had visited, but Ahk still was utterly captivated by it like all the rest. Perhaps even more.

Upon their arrival into the modest, but beaming city of Thonis, the pharaoh and his son were greeted by a man named Pa-heb. Like every time before, Pa-heb was the governing rule of Thonis and welcomed them into his home for as long as they wanted to stay. He was a stoic man, much like Merenkahre, who in Ahk’s opinion valued material possessions far more than anything else. He took pride in all the treasures he procured over years of being a merchant; Pa-heb stopped many times to point them out during the tour of his household. The home itself was indeed grand for the small metropolis in which they found themselves; with picturesque foundations built adjacent to both the Nile and the Mediterranean. Yet, despite its grandeur, it was empty. Pa-heb had no wife, no children, no one to warm his halls–just his worldly treasures collecting dust.

For the weeks that they were there, Pa-heb kept the pharaoh, the prince, and the crews well-fed and entertained with many stories of his time as a merchant in lands far beyond Egypt. Ahkmenrah liked those tales the most, though it was apparent that each story was told with the hope to impress them, or perhaps to brag–Ahk wasn’t sure. During the day, Merenkahre continued his teaching and the prince listened to every word with an attentive ear. On the few evenings he found himself free of dutiful lessons; Ahkmenrah visited the beach and the Temple of Khonsu. The prince adored the roaring sound of the sea waves breaking against the shore–so different than the rush of the Nile–and the salty breeze that whipped at his hair and clothing. And Ahk was certain that he had never felt such reverence than when he was within the walls of the Temple. Not even when he stood at the base of the pyramids.

On his final day in Thonis, Ahkmenrah woke early to ensure he had ample time to stroll along the beach one last time. He watched in wonder as the sun rose, its light painting the sky and the water mirroring pastel hues until all that remained were their natural blue. The morning air was cool over his skin, but the warm breeze billowing over the top of the water danced over his flesh in contrast, eliciting gooseflesh to prickle and form. Ahk even marveled at the sand and the distinction of pure white grains against the olive skin of his feet–small details he would remember until his last breath.

The prince stayed as long as he could on the tranquil shore, calmly watching the waves under the protective eyes of Kamuzu; a part of him wanted to stay there forever, and a larger part of him wished he could have shown Nouke such beauty. She would have also found the magic in the small details.

When he returned for an afternoon of politics, lessons, and meals, Ahk missed the sea breeze and the feel of warm water washing over his toes. Nevertheless, he suffered it all–as he always had with a genuine curiosity and the motivation not to let his father down. When night began to blanket the port city, and the moon cast a glow of silver over everything in sight; Ahkmenrah quickly made his way to the temple for one last moment of reverence before their journey moved on.

Of all the temples and monuments Ahkmenrah had seen so far, his favorite was the Temple of Khonsu. It wasn’t as ornate as the other sights the prince had visited, but it still stood high above his head, impressively reaching– it seemed–for Khonsu himself in the heavens. Upon its entry, two towering statues of the god stood with silver-plated moon disks crowning his falcon head; inside the walls were etched and painted with hieroglyphs that told the stories and teachings of the great god himself. The ceiling was split down its middle, leaving a wide opening the length of the temple to allow the hall to fill with silver light on clear nights.

Ahkmenrah kindly asked for Kamuzu to wait for him outside and serenely strode to the altar at the opposite end of the long temple, kneeling. The prince already did his share of praying that morning; he simply wanted to bask in Khonsu’s reverence, his eyes wandering to the open roof so he could marvel at the crescent moon shining brightly amid its star-filled heaven.

It was quiet for a long time within the walls of the temple until the sound of approaching footsteps broke the silence. The echoing didn’t steel Ahkmenrah’s attention; he found he could not turn away from the beauty of the moon. Even when the steps grew closer and Merenkahre knelt beside him, Ahk never turned away his focus.

“I thought I might find you here.”

Ahkmenrah blinked slowly, eyes still upturned and fixated above him, but spoke, “There is something about this place–it seems familiar somehow.”

Merenkahre laughed gently, his eyes glancing around, “I suppose that should not come as a surprise to me.”

Finally, Ahkmenrah turned his focus to his father, finding a pensive smile that he couldn’t place meaning for.

“You were born at midnight,” Merenkahre explained, glancing towards the sky. “On a night much like this. We named you after the sun god, but it was Khonsu whose light welcomed you into this world. It’s only fitting you are connected to his radiance.”

The prince’s mouth quirked into a soft smile on one side hearing the story, and he looked back to the moon.

“Fitting too, for the gift I bestowed upon you when you were born.”

“What gift?” Ahkmenrah asked, his eyes looking to his father.

A slight furrow creased Meren’s brow, confused for a moment, before looking at his son.

“I don’t believe I have ever told you, have I?” The pharaoh pondered.

Inquiry pressed a line into Ahk’s brow, “Tell me what?”

“I had my high priest forge a magical tablet in your honor, and blessed by the graces of Khonsu.” Meren paused for a moment, thinking before he continued. “One day, I will share with you all the mysteries of the tablet that I know.”

A thousand questions spilled into Ahkmenrah’s mind with the notion of such a gift given to him: why he alone was bestowed with a magical totem and not his brother or sisters? Instead, he asked only if he may see it once they return to Waset, and Merenkahre smiled, vowing to do so.

The two of them were quiet for a long time, both savoring the reverence inside the blessed temple halls. Ahkmenrah was going to be sad to leave come the dawn, but he was glad to have been given the chance to see the things he had.

“Thank you, for taking me on this journey,” Ahkmenrah said quietly. “Kahmunrah was right, I never would have ruled with the appreciation I have now. The cities, the people–I want to do right by them all.”

“Yes, uncharacteristically wise of your brother,” Meren scoffed sounding slightly suspicious still.

Ahkmenrah lowered his eyes to his lap, absently tugging at a fraying thread in his shendyt, trying to understand the obvious wall between the pharaoh and his eldest son.

“Father?” Ahk’s voice was low and almost timid. “May I ask why you plan to crown me, instead of Kah?”

It was a question that had always stayed with him from the time he was old enough to understand how a monarchy usually worked. Kahmunrah was the oldest son, and by rights, the heir.

Merenkahre considered his answer for a long time, then sighed, a sound of disappointment.

“Your brother takes everything for granted. More than that, it’s as you said: you want to do right by these people you have met, this country you’ve seen. Kahmunrah, has seen these things too, and still, he takes them for granted.” Merenkahre met his son’s gaze, “Just because you rule a people does not mean they will be there for you in a time of need. You have to show them your loyalty, and in return, they will show you theirs. Kah doesn’t understand that.

Ahk bit his bottom lip and nodded; everything his father confessed, Ahkmenrah knew to be true. As much as he longed for Kah to be a brother to him, the prince knew Kahmunrah would always be jaded.

It fell quiet again until the pharaoh spoke guiding the subject slightly askew.

“Did you know; I became pharaoh at your age? Fifteen with an entire Empire in my grasp, with only a fraction of the teachings I have offered you.”

Ahkmenrah nodded, and his content mask began to crumble under the weight of the responsibility waiting for him, sinking into his peaceful demeanor.

“Were you afraid?” he asked, not wanting to admit his own fears just yet.

He watched his father nod, and it allayed some of the looming dread.

“My father died you see,” Merenkare explained. “And as I was his only son, I was crowned before his body was even laid to rest.” He paused, his mind digging up what surely were almost forgotten memories. “In truth, it was difficult to rule without my father’s wisdom to call upon…”

Ahkmenrah did his best to hide the fresh wave of trepidation, but his father caught it anyway and reached to give his shoulder a warm squeeze.

“But you mustn’t fear, my son. When I step down, I will remain by your side to guide you until the moment you need me no more.”

A sigh of relief broke past Ahkmenrah’s tight composure and cast a look of unyielding admiration and thankfulness to his father. Meren returned it, and the two of them remained in the temple a while longer.

***

It was almost two years to the date when the pharaoh’s ships once more ported in the city of Men-nefer, and in a way, Ahkmenrah looked upon the familiar skyline with a new understanding. Before he had felt a boy– still learning his trade. When he found himself amidst familiar streets once more, the prince carried himself with all the wisdom and understanding he needed to become who he was meant to always be. The returned to Men-nefer marked the end of his enlightening journey. And while he was sad to see the end of their venture, Ahk did know, he would return home ready for whatever trial’s life would bring.

As before, Sefkh and his family played host to the royal entourage with ample enthuse and hospitality while they rested and resupplied for the four-day sail back to the capital. In a way, the governor’s homestead felt like a second home to the prince having spent weeks in its halls on his first visit. He felt safe there–at peace. And he couldn’t keep from smiling as he roamed those familiar corridors.

Sefkh honored their last night with a feast, and the pharaoh, and the prince indulged in the festivities gladly foregoing an evening of more teachings for a night of drinking, storytelling, and mirth. It was late when Ahk thanked his hosts for making the most of the final days of his venture and leisurely ambled to the chambers made up for him with Kamuzu in tow.

Ahk hummed to himself as he walked, a sweet melody that was a reflection of his tranquil mind, and politely bid goodnight to the servants awaiting him in his bed-chamber. Kamuzu followed him in and waited by the door while the prince took his time removing all his jeweled barbels leaving only his shendyt, then wondered unto the balcony overlooking the city.

“I suggest you rest, my prince,” Kamuzu cautioned from where he stood by the door. “Your father wishes to leave at first light.

Ahkmenrah nodded but kept his eyes fixated on the city and the pyramids in the distance. A part of him was sad that his adventure had reached its end, but he knew the memories of all that he had seen would be with him for as long as he lived.

“ _Home_ …” Ahk murmured into the breeze, a wistful quirk on his lips.

Suddenly, he missed his mother and her smile that always made him feel safe and warm. He missed his younger sister–how big she would be since the last time he had seen her! Ahk could hardly wait.

And Nouke. Ahkmenrah had so many stories to share with his friend, and his heart fluttered at the notion of sitting with her and telling her about every marvel he visited. His smile grew, and the beckoning of home ate away the sadness of leaving his adventure. Ahkmenrah was ready to be reunited with the people he cared about.

“My prince?” Kamuzu repeated, questioning whether or not Ahk had heard him.

“I know, Kamuzu.” Ahk threw him a content smile as he turned to wander back into the chamber. “Thank you, my friend. I will see you come morning. Goodnight.”

Kamuzu bowed, “Goodnight, my prince. Rest well.”

“And you.” 

The Medjay cast him the ghost of a smile and left without another word.

Ahkmenrah fell asleep quickly. His body was tired from an evening of festivities and the breeze from the balcony was inherently soothing–enveloping him with a wakeless calm.

The prince was in such a deep sleep, that the sound of his chamber doors bursting open didn’t stir him. What did, however, was the loud metallic clang that echoed piercingly in the still air of his chamber.

Ahk’s eyes shot open and he gasped.

Mere inches from his throat was an assassin’s blade, restrained with only Kamuzu’s own weapon and the sheer strength he harnessed. Fear ripped through the prince, and his wide eyes darted from his attacker to his protector, mouth dry, and body shaking. With a guttural shout, Kamuzu’s force overcame the man with the killing blade, and he stumbled backward.

“Go, my prince. To your father–QUICKLY!” Kamuzu shouted throwing a pointed finger towards the open door before the hooded man could gather his footing.

Ahkmenrah didn’t argue. His body felt too light and too heavy all at once, but he ran, shouting for the other guards outside his chamber to assist his Medjay friend. The halls that once felt so safe now felt like a maze; every wall and corridor looked unfamiliar and threatening. Tears made his vision blurry, so he wiped them away, reminding himself not to give in to the fear that was fighting and winning to take control.

Ahk only felt safe again when he broke through his father’s chamber doors–two Medjay on his tail wearing looks of confusion. The prince settled on the floor in the far corner of the room, pulling his knees to his chest and hugged them.

Merenkahre woke quickly, the initial look of irritation vanishing the moment he saw his son cowering. Ahk’s breaths came out in labored puffs, shaky like the tremors working through his body. He knew his father was looking at him waiting for some sort of explanation, but the prince kept his focus away from everything but an empty spot on the floor, struggling to keep up the guise of a brave prince.

“What happened?” Merenkahre asked the two Medjay that followed the prince into the chamber.

“We don’t know, my king,” one of them said.

Meren’s jaw grew tight, displeased no one had an answer. The agitation fell from his demeanor when he approached his son, kneeling and reaching to place a gentle hand on his son’s shoulder, but Ahkmenrah pulled away. The pharaoh frowned, his son’s obvious fear instilling him with similar emotion.

“Ahkmen,” he spoke softly. “My son, what happened?”

“An assassin,” Kamuzu’s voice boomed in the quiet air as he entered with two guards flanking him.

The Medjay tossed the body of the hooded man to his feet, and Merenkahre stared in restrained horror at the picture before him.

A moment later, Sefkh entered; the confusion on his face swiftly becoming a similar look of terror as he took in the sight.

“Explain,” Meren demanded as he stood, shielding his son and eyeing Sefkh. “How did an assassin make it into my son’s bed chamber?”

The governor kneeled quickly, “I do not know, my king. I swear to the gods, please.”

The pharaoh took a deep breath in through his nose, teeth grinding, and he looked to his son’s protector.

“How?” he asked simply. 

“There were guards at the prince’s door. The only other entry was from the balcony, my king.” Kamuzu explained. “It’s possible he scaled the exterior without being seen.”

The dark-skinned guardian fell to his knees, a look of shame twisting onto his features as he bowed before his king in a show of forgiveness just has Sefkh was doing.

“Were it not for a sense of danger I felt–an intuition, I would not have been there in time to save him,” Kamuzu admitted. “I have failed you, and my prince–for that, I am sorry. I do not deserve your forgiveness.“

Merenkahre shook his head and demanded he rise. “You have done no such disservice, my friend. You have done as I have always asked–keep my son safe. Was it not for your instincts, it would be a different body presented at my feet. You should seek praise, not forgiveness.”

Kamuzu nodded, “Thank you, my king.”

The pharaoh turned to assist his son once more, moving in slowly to not frighten him. Gently, Meren took Ahk by the arm and helped him onto a nearby stool. He kneeled in front of him, his grey eyes holding compassion that made the prince feel safe.

“Are you alright, my son?” 

Ahkmenrah swallowed, hugging his middle still feeling shaken up, but nodded.

Meren, nodded too, the ghost of a smile on his lips as he gave his son’s shoulder a comforting squeeze.

“You’re safe,” he promised. 

Ahk nodded again; his focus lost in the middle distance.

The tremors were gone and his eyes no longer threatened to spill tears, but that fear was still very potent. His heart hammered in his chest, and his mind was fraught with the image of the knife and the man who’d been sent to kill him. _Why?_ The question swelled and pulsed in his brain prompting an ache that begged he pay attention to it, but Ahk just wanted to forget.

“As for you,” the pharaoh spoke sternly, casting his restrained anger upon the man who had housed them. “What has occurred tonight, is of the highest treason. Do you know this man?”

Sefkh looked at the unmasked murderer and shook his head, “No, sire.”

“Hmm,” the pharaoh rubbed his chin. “I pride myself on being a good judge of character–I believe you, Sefkh. But this will be the last time I share your city.”

Sefkh let out a sigh of relief but remained kneeling, “Thank you, my lord.”

“Shall I have Medjay search the city for any compatriots of our assassin?” Kamuzu asked.

“No,” Meren decided quickly. “We will not be staying. We leave tonight–I will have a word with the captains and the crew. No one is to let Ahkmenrah out of their sight, understand?”

“Yes, my king.” Kamuzu nodded.

“You are dismissed Sefkh. We no longer require your hospitality.” The pharaoh waved the governor away, a look of indifference on his features.

There was no parade or pomp and circumstance when the royal party left the city of Men-nefer under the veil of moonlight–Khonsu watching over them high in the heavens. The pharaoh offered no parting words of thanks to Sefkh or his family; Ahkmenrah was much too shaken to even think of a word to say.

The prince was escorted through the streets under the guise of inconspicuous robes with a whole platoon of guards barricaded around him. Meren walked with him, his strong hand pulling his son along swiftly, and the grip around his upper arm fostered a sense of security that Ahkmenrah clung too with a sure grip that matched the pharaoh’s. Nevertheless, Ahk kept his eyes on the repetitive movement of his feet, too afraid to look down any shadowy alley out of fear of someone coming from the darkness to destroy him.

It wasn’t until his feet strode over the wooden deck of the ship that his anxiety began to ebb, and his breaths became much calmer. His father quickly led him into the cabin they shared, before returning to the deck to ensure they pushed off immediately. The chaos of it all made Ahk’s head spin more than he wanted it too, and he settled himself in another corner, finding safety in the press of walls against his shoulders as he tucked himself there.

Kamuzu stood nearby, silent as always but giving the prince the sense of security that always helped to bring him peacefulness. The sickly slosh in his stomach began to wane too, feeling the boat lurch and veer into the current of the Nile.

“You should sleep,” Kamuzu said gently, running a wet stone over the curve of his blade to sharpen it.

The prince watched and listened, finding the rhythmic sound and coupling actions somehow soothing. And yet sleep seemed impossible. Ahkmenrah wanted to sleep. He was tired. But the images in his head would never allow the peacefulness he craved.

“Thank you for saving me,” Ahkmenrah said finally. His voice was low and sounded foreign laced with so much fear.

“You owe me no thanks, my prince. This was the duty your father gave me the moment you came into this world fifteen years ago.” He didn’t even look up from his task as he spoke. “It is my honor to serve and protect.”

Ahk was quiet for a moment, entranced with the stone in his Medjay’s hand and the noise it prompted as it slid across the edge of Kamuzu’s khopesh.

“Why did my father give you such a duty?” he asked. None of his sisters had a designated protector, not even Kahmunrah. It never occurred to Ahkmenrah until that moment how strange it was that he, alone, was given such care.

Kamuzu thought a moment, looking at him with abundant compassion. He knew why; Ahkmenrah could see it in the slight strain on his face, but whatever the reason, Kamuzu must have sworn never to tell.

“That is not for me to say, my prince.”

Ahkmenrah sighed, too tired and too distraught to argue and demand reasoning. Instead, he sighed and pulled his knees tight against his chest. It was going to be a long journey back home.

**Author's Note:**

> I'll post the next chapter next week! :D


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